


SnowBaz Drabbles

by Nonpai



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Drabbles, Kissing, M/M, Possible NSFW?, Simon Snow-freeform, Snuggling, but mostly Bas being unapologetically gay, lots of capital A ANGST in there, tyrannus Basilton "baz" Pitch-freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-07-05 18:46:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15869556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonpai/pseuds/Nonpai
Summary: Some little thought expansions I have of our favourite power couple.Most of them take place before or during the events of Carry On, and probably will not jump too far into the future or past.Just some empty calories to get my daily serving of Baz.Probably some questionable things in the later installments, but we'll burn that bridge when we cross it:3c





	1. Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> A chapter inspired by me, a person who eats dinner at four and is still surprised when I get hungry before bed

The only emotion Baz could understand at the moment was hunger. Was he mad? Furiously so. Simon had been raiding his desk again, for whatever idiotic reason. Most likely in an attempt to find the blueprint to Baz’s doomsday machine. The  _ one time _ Baz mindlessly passed a note to Nial that he was going to fight Simon after lunch sparked weekly desk rummaging. He wasn’t even discreet about it; a few years back, he would have acted nonchalant, pretending to be on his way out,   _ just passing by _ , or hop back a foot with a yelp. Today, however, he just kept looking, a sheepishly guilty smile tugging at his lips while his fingers rifled through the stacks of notes in the top drawer. Baz didn’t care about the anathema, or that his wand was only an inch from Simon’s nose, or that he was mentally rehearsing the most powerful attack spells he knew. The first syllable almost crossed his lips, but that pesky conscious of his stopped him dead. What was the point in it? Killing Simon wouldn’t mend the abyss manifesting itself in his stomach, it certainly wouldn’t make sense to vaporize the only person he could bring himself to fantasize about (more than he would ever admit). Instead of tearing him a new asshole, Baz opted for an annoyed eye roll, his arm going limp and dragging his wand along with.

“I don’t fucking care,” he muttered before turning on a heel for the door. This wasn’t something he wanted to deal with, not when his abdomen gurgled and fell in on itself. Even if it was an unwarranted invasion of privacy, he could only focus on the task at hand: finding food. What he wanted more than anything was to forget about his responsibilities and go on autopilot for a few hours. It wasn’t like he could’ve stayed anyway, not when the walking blood bank was ready to get in his face to defend himself. ‘ _ Damned Snow, _ ’ Baz mentally shouted at himself, the damp cold of the catacombs finally registering in his mind.

Maybe it was punishment for all the wrong his family had done in the past, like some divine being was forcing centuries of hard earned bad karma onto him. It made sense, he was an unholy beast of hell, feeding on the living to prolong his own miserable existence. Baz didn’t mind it all that much, he could put up with the hunting, so long as could get his fill. He never could though, not with Simon around. He was a sheep in the tiger’s cage, always within reach, but completely off limits. ‘ _ That’s why I want him so much _ ,’ Baz assured himself as he snagged a particularly obese rat and stuffed it between his teeth. ‘ _ I want him because I can’t have him _ .’ The rodent struggled, squealing and kicking against its predator. Baz imagined that Simon would do the same, vomiting half-assed spells and curses in an attempt to preserve his own pitiful life. He could almost picture the exact expression that would spread across his features; wide eyes filling with pain and tears, eyebrows pushed together under a muss of copper, his jaw dropping to let out a final anguished cry. A moment of pure tension passing between them before complete silence.

Baz shivered at the thought of it all. Not in delight, but disgust at himself. Movies made vampires impossibly erotic, their every move an act of sexual confidence. For a while, Baz wanted to believe he was just like them, with the ability to melt every heart into a puddle of gasping ecstasy. Though, he knew that none of it was true, he was a monster to the core, and the second he put his fangs on anyone, any semblance of romance would become grisly horror. However, he still craved the fantasy of it; to have Snow writhing helplessly beneath him in pleasure, begging him for  _ more _ . God, how he wanted to believe it was a possibility, not just being able to taste Simon without ending him, but that he could be allowed to in the first place. No matter which way he cut the situation, the outcome was always the same: there was no way in heaven or hell a Pitch could ever love The Mage’s heir and live to tell about it.

Yet there he was, skulking around the catacombs, fantasizing about Simon like a lovesick schoolgirl on Valentine’s day. It wasn’t like he could escape him either, they had class together, they were Watford’s resident rivals, they were  _ roommates _ for fuck’s sake. Still, Baz wanted nothing more than to share a tender moment, where none of their histories were relevant and they could indulge in each other’s warmth (well, as much warmth as Simon could provide for the both of them). Nothing would have to exist besides their lips and emotions. Baz would finally confess his burning love in breathless bits and pieces between passionate kisses. He’d be able to tear at Simon, acting on suppressed desires to imprint himself on Simon’s tongue. Just as Simon left the taste of smoke wherever he went, Baz would finally be able to return the favour.

“Disgusting,” Baz mumbled to himself, brushing away dust that clung to his jumper, throwing one last glance to the catacombs. He was still hungry, but it was more of a twinge of discomfort in his stomach, rather than an insatiable gnawing that threatened to consume him from the inside out. Topping his craving off with mindless snacks would satisfy him until breakfast. ‘ _ I’d kill for a deer, _ ’ Baz nearly laughed at himself for considering it, but explaining an entire carcass to whoever found it was more trouble than the meal it was worth. He’d have to settle for crisps and the aero bars tucked away in his underwear drawer. Thankfully, he’d only have to go to bed hungry instead of starved, and the thought of a piping hot breakfast when he woke up reassured him back into his room.

As usual, Simon was crumpled into his ball of sleep, the covers pulled up so that only his muss of curls was visible. Baz extended a hand to run his fingers through Simon’s hair, but ultimately abandoned it in favour of retraining his dignity. ‘ _ I won’t touch him until he lets me _ ,’ he repeated the phrase once more before tearing himself away for a hot shower. 


	2. Lemme See Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fighting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for making it multiple parts, but I didn't want to make it one big long chapter

After a particularly rough fight in the hall, Simon's blood was near boiling, cheeks literally aflame. Baz kept mocking Simon's pronunciation of spells, purposefully messing up his own, and then fixing it immediately with no effort at all. No one seemed to get much out of it except for Baz, who cackled and sneered when Simon actually _did_ fuck up his own spells. The professor gave Baz a warning, but that didn’t stop him from pushing his luck, nor did it stop Simon’s anger from bubbling. Their little scuffle started when Baz sent some sparks onto Simon’s desk, easy enough to put out. It was the small inferno that pushed him over the edge. Simon had managed to contain himself, but the second both of them had set foot outside of the classroom, he went straight for Baz.

“You son of a witch! What in the name of magic were you fucking thinking!?” Simon had the upper hand at first, as he was able to attack Baz from behind. He’d managed to get a decent hold on Baz, shaking him by the shoulders before harshly shoving him against the nearest wall.

“Unhand me you cretin! I didn’t even do anything!” Baz shoved back, pushing Simon onto his ass, disrupting the flow of hallway traffic. “It’s not _my fault_ you’re a shit magic user,” his voice had an air of smug confidence Simon didn’t much care for. The fact Baz flashed him a haughty smirk did nothing to help the situation. Before Baz could finish his villainous loom over him, Simon dragged him down, going straight for Baz’s nose when he toppled over.

“Shut up!” Simon could have used magic, a rudimentary transmutation spell that would turn his fists into lead would suffice. However, raw hatred, indignation, and humiliation fueled Simon to let loose on his bully. He wouldn’t get the chance once they were in their room, at least not how he wanted to now. Baz seemed to understand, as he waited for the nearest opening to hit Simon square in the jaw, using the distraction to get Simon off his abdomen. Yanking him up by the collar, Baz shook him more violently than what he had done previously, adding another punch for maximum effect. A crowd formed around them (mostly first years who didn’t know any better), cheering and edging them further on.

“What’s the matter, _Snow_?” Baz sneered at him, pure deviance burning behind his icy eyes. “Just use some magic. Oh wait, you can’t!” he cackled, dropping Simon into a heap before sending the tip of his oxford into Simon’s diaphragm. Wheezing, Simon found his last ounce of strength to fumble for his wand. He inhaled sharply--shallowly--and forced the spell out in Baz’s general direction.

“ **Drop dead!** ” a shot of fire coursed through Simon as he swallowed another gulp of air. Just like that, Baz fell to his knees, the wind knocked completely out of his body. Simon used the opportunity to force Baz onto his back again, although this time he opted for more strangulation than his previous attempts. Similarly, Baz fought back, going for a punch straight in Simon’s face. It was only when Penny and the Minotaur intervened that the two were pried apart. They still kicked and screamed, but the considerable distance between them made it harder to get in much more fighting. Simon spit in Baz’s direction, a faint metallic taste filling his mouth. He wiped his mouth, but upon inspection realized that blood was spurting from his nose. It did not deter him from hurling more garbled insults at Baz, if anything, the bloody nose gave him another boost of energy. Penny dragged him away, shouting about the mess he was making and generally trying to scold him, in case he tried to act on any more of his urges. While Simon was still poised to attack, the gush of blood down his face quenched the fire burning in his stomach. Instead of turning around completely, he stole a quick glance over his shoulder; Baz had broken free of the Minotaur, and glared at Simon. For a fraction of a second, Simon swore Baz’s gritted teeth were fangs, barely fitting in between snarling lips. Before he could oggle further, he was taken down an adjacent hallway.

“What were you doing!” Penny cried, forcing a tissue into Simon’s hands. “You know how terribly that spell could have gone!” She wiped the blood from his cheeks with an alcohol soaked cloth. “You could have killed him!”

“He set my desk on fire! He could’ve killed _me_ !” Simon shouted back. “If he wasn’t such an asshole, I wouldn’t-wouldn’t-” he searched for the words, but only found anger, _heat_.

“Fight tooth and claw like a child?” she said frigidly. Penny pushed her glasses up and pinched the bridge of her nose in the most disappointed-mother way she could. “Honestly, Simon, could you just _think_ for once before you act? You _know_ what Baz is like; he’s just trying to set you off, he does this _all the time_.” She helped him get into proper position, guiding his posture forward so the blood would drain out of his nose instead of slide down his throat.

“That’s the problem,” he retorted--however, with the tissue pinching his nose, he didn’t sound as serious as he felt. “He’s always doing this, he always _has_ been doing this.” His eyes flitted up to meet Penny’s, but upon meeting her furrowed brow, his ears went beet red. “I’m just tired of it…” his voice was small, barely above a whisper. “He started it anyway.”

“It never matters who started it,” Penny sighed. “You’re too old for this, both of you,” she put a hand on Simon’s shoulder, giving him a firm squeeze. “One of you has to be the bigger magician about this, and I know for a _fact_ you don’t want it to be Baz.” Her eyes were too forgiving given the circumstances.

Simon nodded slightly, giving her an embarrassed grin. They shared an understanding glance as the bell rang for lunch. Hopefully, Penny wouldn’t be too disappointed when she found out what Simon had planned to do after Baz’s football practice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two will be posted on friday so look out for it


	3. Lemme See Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Football on the Pitch  
> :3c

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, part 2. Please enjoy this slightly less plausible situation featuring Panic Vampire Gay™ and Oblivious Chosen One™

Just as planned, Baz stayed on the pitch when practice ended, leaving a perfect window for Simon to investigate. Although he didn’t have Baz’s weight or strength, the element of surprise allowed Simon to easily tackle Baz. Within seconds, Baz tried to force Simon back, ready to continue where they’d left off in the hall. Much to his bewilderment (and discomfort), Simon was reaching for his cheeks instead of his throat. He batted Simon’s hands away, but Simon was persistent, immediately going back to lifting Baz’s jaw. ‘ _ What in magic’s name is this?! _ ’ Baz blocked himself off, realizing that Simon was trying to open his mouth. Had it not been for the weight on his chest, Baz could have pushed him off; for now, he could do little more than create a barrier between Simon’s fingers and his fangs. Struggling to remove Baz’s hands from his face, Simon fruitlessly yanked at his wrists.

“Baz, open up, I need to see something,” his voice was unsettlingly calm for someone who’d he seen fuming with rage just a few hours ago.

“ _ Absolutely not! _ ” Baz spoke through his hands, nails digging into his cheeks as Simon’s grip grew stronger. Simon quirked an eyebrow at him, confused about what should have been clear directions.

“What?” Simon leaned in closer, fingers loosening around Baz’s wrists.

Baz rolled his eyes and unclasped his mouth in aggravation. “Get off of me you absolute git!” Before he could cover his lips, Simon pinned his wrists down on either side of his head. ‘ _ Fuck _ ,’ apprehension began to twist in Baz’s stomach, an anxious yelp forming in his throat. “Snow, get the fuck off of me or I will smite you where you stand,” a nervous smile--grimace?--crept along his lips, revealing exactly what Simon had come for.

“Well I’m not exactly standing right now,” Simon could barely hide his giddiness; as if by  _ magic _ , Baz willingly showed him his teeth--confirming Simon’s suspicions about his fangs.

“I-I don’t care, get  _ off _ ,” he tried to hide the embarrassment creeping into his voice by glaring directly at Simon (or rather,  _ through _ Simon, as he was in a very compromising position). As much as he enjoyed Simon on top of him, Baz felt more threatened than aroused, though he didn’t show either save for the slight falter in his speech. Furthermore, he was more concerned with the fact that Simon had seen his teeth--his  _ fangs _ \--a fact he couldn’t brush aside as some bogus conspiracy theory; he had fangs,  _ tangible, observable _ pieces of his true self that he’d kept perfectly hidden from the outside world. He’d learned to hide them while he ate (he tried not to gorge himself around people), as well as when he spoke (keeping his sneers close-lipped and expressing with his eyebrows more than anything), but all of that was in vain. He let nearly fifteen years of careful stealth go to waste because he wanted to snarl at Simon like some chained guard dog. Simon was still staring at him, but his grin had long-since faded into a neutral expression. Preparing for the worst, Baz frowned, eyes dancing across Simon’s features to find a way out of their current situation.   
  
Baz raised an eyebrow at him, irritate and embarrassed.“Well? What’s next, Snow? You got what you wanted so now what? Rat me out to the Mage? To Bunce? Van Helsing maybe?” his tone had a twinge of brattiness, only the edges of his words held his defeat.

“They’re not like how they were,” he seemed to be in a trance-like state, brow furrowing as though recalling a fuzzy memory. 

“Of course not, you twit, why would they be? Are you dull?” He tried lifting his arms slightly as Simon was too preoccupied with getting simple facts to register. Once he snapped back to reality, Simon returned to forcing Baz down into the grass--however he focused more on keeping his weight on Baz’s chest rather than keeping his wrists pinned.

Simon shifted slightly, using his elbow and forearm to free up a hand, which he used to pull Baz’s lips apart some. Just enough to catch a glance at his teeth before Baz snapped at him. Retreating, Simon was forced off of Baz’s chest.

Fuming, Baz scrambled to his feet, grabbing Simon by the collar, “What in  _ Aleister Crowley _ are you fucking doing!?” he was growling, fangs popping as they had before, and filling his cheeks out. “Who the fuck do you think you are pulling this!?” More than anything, Baz was embarrassed, at himself and at how far he’d let Simon go with his little oral investigation. Had he been properly fed, Baz might’ve blushed, but he was thankful for the lack of blood circulating through his face.

“I just wanted to see! Why are you so anal about it!?” `Simon yanked his arm away, pushing himself onto his feet and into Baz’s face. He jabbed a finger into his chest. “You were the moron who fucked up by showing me your fangs in the first place!” he hissed, moving further into Baz’s space.

“You don’t just go and put your fingers in someone’s mouth, you disgusting pervert!” Baz swatted his hand away, backing further away. The last thing he wanted was to be within striking distance. “Now either go tell on me or get out of my face!”

“Just open your damned mouth and let me see!” Simon reached for him again, but stumbled as Baz side stepped him.

“No!  _ Absolutely _ not! Especially not out on the pitch!” Baz began to saunter off, ready to sprint if Simon was prepared to chase after.

“Then what if we did it somewhere private? Like our room?” Simon caught his sleeve, a genuine look of confusion plastered on his oblivious face. Baz stared at him, wishing he could blush just to make Simon realize how suggestive that statement sounded out loud. He had to settle for scowling at him in disgust.

“Snow, of all the shit I’ve heard you say--” Baz started a tirade but fell silent when he saw how much  _ earnest _ emotion Simon had plastered on his face. All things considered, Baz wouldn’t lose much from letting it happen; Simon couldn’t hurt him in their room, and he could be monitored closely. “Fine. Whatever.” Baz began to stomp off, dragging Simon along by the arm, a shameful frown tugging his lips for interpreting Simon’s suggestion as a sexual invitation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You really thought this would be only 2000 words huh?  
> Well I needed just 1000 more to say what I wanted to so part 3 on Sunday


	4. Lemme See Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Simon proves how dumb he actually is

Seated on Simon’s bed, the pair refused to meet one another’s eyes. In theory, Baz was supposed to let Simon ogle his fangs in a completely platonic manner. In practice, Simon was too enthralled to be satisfied with just observing from a distance, and Baz was too gay to keep his thoughts clean. Simon had cupped Baz’s cheeks, using his thumbs to press the corners of his mouth wider, allowing him to get the absolute  _ best  _ look at his fangs. He muttered observations to himself, but mainly commented on how “ _ wicked _ ” it was that Baz could keep them hidden.

“That’s wicked…you just keep them…in your mouth?” Simon lifted Baz’s lip to get a better look at how his gums connected to his fangs.

“Of course, Snow, they’re my teeth,” Baz frowned, opening one eye to glare to Simon. “Where am I supposed to keep them, the nightstand?” Simon shrugged, mind focused on shifting Baz’s lips apart to inspect him from every angle. His jaw was slack, his lips parted slightly. ' _ Mouth breathing twit _ ,’ Baz thought, though he couldn't deny how cute he thought it was. Just the tips of Simon’s incisors were visible, almost like a rabbit, but half as respectable. He nearly snorted, rolling his eyes before closing them again. It seemed like an eternity, sitting on Simon's bed, knees touching, both completely vulnerable to each other. Not that Baz could complain (he never wanted to leave), so he wasn't at all surprised when his mind drifted off. The gentle brush of Simon's thumb on his bottom lip, the warmth radiating from his palms, his breathy murmurs playing on the other boy’s cheeks. Baz relaxed further, his shoulders falling from their usually squared position and his own jaw dropping a bit. ' _ Crowley, he's perfect _ .’

Baz was the first to break their eternity of silence,  _ “Merlin and Morgana _ ,” he sighed quietly, well, it was closer to a soft moan, but he'd rather ignore that fact. Simon seemed to, as he nodded slightly, still entranced, not with Baz’s fangs in particular, but with his face as a whole, turning his jaw slightly to the side. Simon leaned closer--Baz could feel warm air near his neck--running his thumb just under Baz’s eye.

“Your cheekbones are really pointy,” he whispered (directly into Baz's ear no less), “You look like a vampire.”

“What am I supposed to look like?” Baz sounded foreign to himself; the response wasn't sarcastic, nor malicious. It was almost genuine.

“I dunno, like you,” Simon’s voice was so close, so warm, Baz  _ swore _ his lips brushed against his ear. Simon pushed a few stray locks behind Baz’s ear, but kept a hand rested near his nape, absentmindedly twirling Baz’s hair around his finger. Baz sighed again, leaning back against the headboard, taking Simon and his warmth with. 

He was tempted to put his hands on Simon, either on his shoulders, or to drag him in by the waist. Either option was heavenly, but carried terrifying risk; Simon had every reason to touch Baz, this was a fang inspection after all. Baz had no reason to interfere, and restricting Simon's shoulders with his arms might clue him into Baz's less than pure intentions. His waist was completely off limits for the same reason. Baz settled for folding his hands in his lap, embarrassed he considered touching Simon at all. This wasn't a romantic endeavor, they were still enemies, and enemies don't go around hugging each other like a couple of lovesick blokes.

Simon turned Baz's head again, inspecting his jaw and drawing the harsh line with his index finger. ' _ I feel like a damned house cat _ ,’ Baz thought, but when Simon reached the underside of his chin, he nearly purred. ' _ The happiest damned house cat in all of Europe _ .’ He expected Simon to go from one ear to the other, brushing his jaw, but instead of following across, he traced back up to Baz’s lips, dragging his bottom lip down a bit. A shiver crawled up Baz's spine, and he parted them further. Simon ran his fingers over Baz's lips, pressing down on them ever so slightly, just to see how they'd move. He turned the corners up into a grin (something that looked strange on someone who smirked instead of smiled), but Simon continued anyway. ' _ They look soft _ ,’ Simon couldn't get that particular thought out of his mind. The whole time he'd been wondering it, and now he had solid confirmation. ‘ _ So soft _ ,’ he tilted his head slightly, maneuvering around Baz’s nose so he fit comfortably. 

Just as he'd suspected, Baz's lips were soft, impossibly so for someone who constantly looked like death incarnate. Simon pulled away for a second, barely an inch, and chuckled to himself. He kissed Baz--his mortal enemy, a _Pitch_ \--and the damned thing about it was that he wanted to do it _again_. 

Baz opened his eyes carefully, hardly looking past his eyelashes in an almost drunken state. “What?” he whispered, swallowing whatever taste still lingered on his tongue. “Something wrong?”

Simon chuckled again, shaking his head slightly, “I kissed a bloke like you, 'sall,” he nuzzled back against Baz’s lips, smiling. ‘ _ I'm  _ kissing _ a bloke like you _ ,’ he thought, pushing a hand through Baz’s hair, pulling him in by the nape. Baz considered putting an arm around Simon's waist, but Simon beat him to it, holding the small of his back while working lazy circles in with his palm. Simon pulled at him, bringing their chests together slightly to deepen the kiss.

‘ _ The bloody fool’s a pro. Well fuck me _ ,’ Baz wound his arms around Simon's shoulders, languidly reaching up to run his fingers through Simon's bronze curls. Simon pulled at the back of Baz's shirt, tugging it free from the waistband of his trousers. He crept his hand under the thin cotton, ghosting his fingers across Baz's absolutely frigid skin. Without skipping a beat, Simon guided Baz into his lap, pushing his hair back again for a brief moment when their lips separated. Baz snuck at glance at Simon; his cheeks flushed for the both of them, ears beet red, eyes lidded, and hair in complete disarray. Simon licked his lips, a slow,  _ deliberate _ pass.  ‘ _ At this rate he just might.  _ Fucking hell.’

“All right, Snow?” Baz managed, his voice a horse whisper. Had his throat gone dry?

“Yeah, all right,” Simon drawled, pressing his lips back against Baz’s.

' _ I wouldn't be opposed _ .’ Baz accepted his fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go, part 3!
> 
> If there's a demand maybe a fake part four where it picks right back up where we left off yeah?


	5. Nght

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz is on a first name basis

Simon awoke to the sound of an animal whimpering. It sounded far off as he forced himself onto his elbows. He glanced around the room, realizing it was pointless given that he could barely make out his own hand in the dark. With his mind still in the realm of sleep, he could barely figure out where the sound was coming from; it seemed to be ringing from inside of his head, from his dreams. Simon shook his head and body, trying to coax himself fully awake. All at once, it felt like he was falling into his own skin, the warm tingle of his magic leaving the taste of smoke in his mouth. Moonlight streamed in through the window, dulled only by thin curtains that ruffled and blew in time with the breeze (it was more of a draft, seeing as it blew through Simon like daggers of ice). The wounded animal that cried in his dreams no longer slammed against his temples, but he still couldn’t pinpoint the noise as he was too disoriented to figure left from right. Simon snagged his wand from the nightstand, keeping his voice low as he murmured “ **Olly Olly oxen free** ”. A small glow appeared around Baz, who tossed and turned relentlessly. The sounds Simon had heard in his dreams no doubt came from Baz, as he seemed to be crying and whining, but remained asleep. Touching a hand to his shoulder, Simon considered using a spell to calm him ( **sweet dreams** would have sufficed, but given that he woke up from a nightmare about poptarts, Simon didn’t trust it). He ultimately decided on gently waking Baz.

“Baz, Baz, hey, wake up,” Simon shook his shoulder, his voice low and soft. Baz began panting, thrashing more now that he could feel pressure on his body. “Baz, hey, come on, you’re asleep,” Simon held his wrist with his free hand in an attempt to settle Baz somewhat. It seemed to work, but Baz let out a strained sob, tears rolling down his cheeks. Simon panicked, tensing up and pulling Baz into a more or less upright position. “Baz, wake up! Baz!” he could feel the magic prickling where his skin met Baz’s, like static electricity jumping from one another’s skin. Baz’s eyes snapped open, his chest heaving.

“S-Simon?” he turned to Simon, running a hand through his hair. “What…what are you doing?” Baz tugged his arm away, but let Simon keep a hold on his shoulder--unfortunately, Simon dropped his hand to the mattress. “Why is my face wet?”

“You were having a nightmare or something,” Simon knelt by his bed, fixing his gaze on the way Baz crumpled in on himself, arms holding his sides as he shivered. “Do you remember it?” Baz nodded, taking in a shaky breath to steady himself. Simon swallowed the residual magic in his throat, turning to stare into the dark. “Do you…want to talk about it?”

Baz shook his head, nervously running a hand through his hair. He stopped midway through, collapsing back into himself before meekly nodding again. “I was back in the nursery…” his words were breathless, more terror than oxygen. “…that day we were searching for the fifth rabbit…”

“When we were attacked…” Simon looked back to Baz, who’d scooted himself into the corner where his bed met the wall. Even in the dim light, he could tell that Baz was still crying, shivering with each shallow breath. Rising, Simon cautiously seated himself on the edge of the bed, tousling his own curls and rubbing the back of his neck. “That day was my fault, okay, I should’ve helped more,” he glanced back at Baz; he was caught between hyperventilation and stifling another crying fit. “Baz…” Simon reached out, putting his hand back onto Baz’s shoulder. He only intended to give him a gentle squeeze, maybe talk some reassurance into him. Instead, Baz immediately clung to Simon, burying his head into the crook of the other boy’s neck. Simon thought it might be the end, Baz would bite him and it’d be the end of their little rivalry. However, Baz just…clung, as though Simon was a life jacket in the middle of the ocean. Hot tears pooled on Simon’s exposed collarbone, bringing Baz’s strained voice along with. Cautiously wrapping his arms around Baz, Simon tried to process the information while comforting his sobbing roommate as best he could.

“Shh, it’s okay, Baz it was just a dream,” Simon cooed in Baz’s ear, rocking him gently and rubbing his back. Baz was usually ice cold, but tonight he was downright clammy. ‘ _ No doubt from a cold sweat _ ,” Simon ignored it, shifting so Baz would comfortably sit in his lap. “It’s okay, you’re awake and safe now,” he stroked Baz’s head, running his fingers through the muss of ebony waves. Baz sniffed, resting his cheek on Simon’s shoulder.

“Mhm,” he had steadied his breathing, though a few still caught in his throat. Baz sighed, pulling himself from Simon’s shoulder. “You should go back to bed now, I’m fine,” his tone was grim, almost as terrified as when he woke up.

“I’m not leaving,” he sounded drowsy, words slurred at the edges. Simon pulled him back into the crook of his neck, resting his cheek on Baz’s head. “You shouldn’t be left alone…” he rubbed Baz’s back, easing some warmth between his shoulder blades. “Not till you can rest…” Baz nodded slightly as he helped Simon onto his back. They shifted around, Baz insisting that Simon go back to his own bed, Simon sleepily dismissing him while clinging ever tighter. After some time, Baz decided not to resist; Simon was warm and protective, his breathing was rhythmic and inviting. It wasn’t as if Baz was trapped, he could have wriggled free of Simon at any point. It was that Simon had fallen completely asleep (at least to Baz’s knowledge) in  _ his _ bed, evidenced by his soft snores and loose grip around Baz. The only place he had to go was Simon’s bed, which felt foreign if Simon wasn’t also there. Baz nestled himself under Simon’s chin, pressing a kiss to his throat before allowing himself to drift off. When Baz faced the rabbit again, he didn’t feel anxious, as Simon placed a hand on his shoulder, sword drawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're not gonna like this but uhhhh the next one's gonna be multiple parts probably  
> Update on Sunday as usual lads!
> 
> :3c


	6. Celestial Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz is my angle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little longer than usual because it's a day late

Waiting just outside the church, Fiona removed a pack of cigarettes from her jacket. She had promised to drop Baz off, though the longer she waited, the more she began to rethink the decision. ‘ _ He can handle himself _ ,’ she thought, placing a cigarette between her lips. ‘ _ Natasha couldn’t handle herself, and they’re practically the same person _ .’ Fiona sighed, cocking her head back against the stone exterior of the church; Baz was a child genius, there was not doubt that he would make an excellent guardian. What troubled her was his lack of experience on Earth, as he’d only ever been near mortals when he was a toddler--before the accident. In fact, not a single Pitch had been to Earth  _ since _ the accident, save for herself. ‘ _ Sister, I’m just not sure _ ,’ she took a moment to just stare at the clouds, knowing that beyond the fluffy bottoms of those wispy obstructions was a bustling city. She sighed deeply once again, finally bringing a lighter to the end of her cigarette.

“I thought smoking was prohibited,” Baz said nonchalantly. “Especially on holy property.” Fiona gave him a sideways glance, the cigarette falling from her mouth as she sneered.

“Nice to see you too, Basil,” she muttered, stomping her smoke out with the toe of her Doc Marten. With an exaggerated head tilt, she turned to face Baz. It had been some time since she last saw him in person (three years, to be exact); back then, he was lanky and meek, his chubby baby cheeks contrasting against his twiggy frame. Now, his shoulders created a sturdy frame from which the rest of his body was built: years of flying and guardian practice filled out his previously nonexistent muscles. No longer did he resemble Natasha’s “rosebud boy”, he had grown into the textbook definition of a Pitch.    
“Was the trip alright? You haven’t been down in a minute.”

Baz gathered his bags, already walking towards the car. “It was fine, a bit bumpier than I remember,” his tone was cool-- _ icy _ even--for someone whose only memory of Earth was one of trauma and heartache. “Didn’t think I’d have to take the long way, though.” 

Fiona popped the trunk, shoving aside the junk to make room for Baz’s two suitcases. Stuffed among what can only be described as useless garbage were cardboard boxes, labelled in permanent marker:  _ College stuff _ . Seeing as Baz didn’t have time in his own uselessly busy schedule to go shopping, Fiona did her best to buy what she thought he would need to move into a dorm, or at least would be enough until she could visit again. Since their aesthetics didn’t mesh very well, she avoided buying anything that was too interesting, which meant solid beige sheets, dreery grey curtains, and a woefully plain chrome desk lamp. She knew Baz would redecorate in his own image anyway, so there wasn’t a point in getting him anything too extravagant or personalized.

“It’s the fastest way we’ve got at the moment, ‘specially for your lot,” she smiled at him, obviously trying to raise his spirits. A look of unease played on Baz’s lips, as if he was holding back a thought with his teeth. Reaching to pat his shoulder, Fiona opened her mouth to say something encouraging; however, as she didn’t know the cause for his anxiety, she also kept the words beneath her tongue. 

They rode in a cramped silence, their only saving grace being Fiona’s insistence on screaming along to the radio. The campus wasn’t all that far from the church, but the traffic of incoming freshman and their parents extended the thirty minute trip by an hour. Finding Baz’s dorm was a whole other animal, as the maps provided were confusing to Fiona (who refused to ask for directions). However, when Baz finally got a decent look over her shoulder, he guided them to his room with relative ease. The building itself seemed to be one of the older dormitories, evident in the creaky doors and lack of air conditioning. His room was tucked away at the end of the hall on the fifth floor, separated from the other rooms by the bathroom. Room 539 wasn’t listed as a single or double, so Baz had every right to believe he would be alone. Much to his chagrin, there was a pair of beds, one on either side of the tall window (which was propped open by a chemistry textbook). A heap of sheets and shed layers slept peacefully in one of the beds, nothing but a muss of bronze curls poked out from under the covers. Baz stood before the figure, his  _ roommate _ , just watching his shoulders rise and fall with every breath. He felt a strange pull in his stomach, like his heart was rising into his throat after dropping. Fiona set Baz’s belongings on his bed, only noticing he hadn’t set his suitcases down. He’d seen a few humans during the check-in, but she knew he felt the strange aura around this one in particular.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” she whispered from over his shoulder, clearly amused by his slack jaw and wide eyes. Fiona knew Baz regarded humans with some level of mysticism, he’d only ever read about them in (painfully ancient) books, knowing next to nothing about how to approach them as another human. 

“Maybe,” he said wistfully, regaining his composure by the time he turned to face his aunt. “Is there anything else in the car?”

“Yeah, but I’ll get it, I wanna grab us something to drink on the way back up,” she smiled again, patting his shoulder before disappearing out the door.

Baz returned to his own side of the room, placing the boxes under the bed so he could deal with unpacking his suitcases as soon as possible. After setting a few articles on his nightstand, Baz glanced over his shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of his roommate again. A quick glance became a longing stare as he found himself yearning to see his roommates face. On the one hand, he could have woken him up and struck up a conversation. On the other, he wanted to brush aside that curly hair and take in their peacefully sleeping face at his leisure. Baz opted for the latter, reaching to move aside the covers but retracting before his hand touched them. Would it be okay for Baz to touch a human? Would it be improper or illegal just to move this boy’s bangs a little? Baz’s heart rang in his ears, the blood rushing to his cheeks. Of course it wouldn’t be okay; Baz didn’t have any idea who this person was, and he had no right to engage in any sort of physical contact.  ‘ _ But  _ _ it wouldn’t be  _ that _ bad, just to see his face, would it _ ?’ he thought it over before deciding that he needed to know. Cautiously lifting their bangs away, Baz’s breath caught in his throat; beneath the locks of auburn was a precious boy, strong brows, and a universe of freckles dotting his face. His lips were parted slightly, a soft snore escaping. His heart leapt as Baz considered ghosting his fingers over the other boy’s skin, just to get some of his warmth. ‘ _ That’s enough…it has to be _ ,’ he thought, taking a step back. ‘ _ But it doesn’t have to be _ ,’ a voice cooed in his mind. He swallowed, raising his shaky hand to cup the boy’s cheek.

“What in heaven’s gilded name are you  _ doing _ , Basil?” Fiona caught his wrist, spooking him back onto his own bed. Her expression was somewhere between amusement and horror, usually calm eyes now wide and manic.

“N-Nothing, I was just…looking,” his sentence was punctuated with a dry swallow, and he wretched his arm away to mess with his hair. They didn’t dare meet one another’s gaze, not with how embarrassed Fiona felt for interrupting and how much shame Baz felt for indulging himself in the first place.   
“I was curious,” he meekly proclaimed, tossing her a half-hearted glance before hanging his head again.

“Basil, Basil,  _ Basil _ ,” Fiona dug her palms into her eye sockets, letting out an exasperated sigh. “I know you’re bloody curious, but humans don’t appreciate us stalking around them like this,” she put a hand on his shoulder, making him meet her eye. “You have to pretend to be one of them, which means learning personal space and  _ not _ caressing strangers’ faces. Yeah?”

Baz gave her a slow nod, looking through her to the open door and further even into the hallway. Humans were to be revered, protected by beings like himself, and that’s what he wanted to do. By wrapping up this stranger in his arms and tracing every curve of his square jaw with the lightest touch. He’d never felt such a way about in anyone in heaven, and certainly didn’t have the chance to do so with his limited experience with humans, but this person, this  _ boy _ , made a thousand butterflies spiral in his stomach. 

“Yeah,” he said quietly, suddenly very conscious of how loud his voice sounded in the near empty dorm. In truth, he wanted to believe that he could be held to that promise, but the moment Fiona’s hand dropped, his mind wandered back to his roommate. At the very least, he could indulge in them while in their dorm, seeing as from that day forward they would be living together. 

“Right on, let’s finishing unpacking,” Fiona nudged one of the boxes near the foot of the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two probably won't be posted until Saturday/sunday, but who fuckin knows


	7. Celestial Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon is a sleepy boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to complications, this one's late and there wasn't a post on Wednesday which I apologize for, I'll try to get back on that asap

Simon rolled onto his side, pulling the covers up over his head in an attempt to dull the noise of his roommate rummaging around. Due to the previous night’s excursions, Simon found it near impossible to get out of bed, especially with the incessant clatter of books and useless trinkets.

“Hey, mind shutting up? I’m trying to sleep,” he tossed the request over his shoulder, disappointed to still hear the shifting behind him.

“Hmm, let me think,” Baz began flatley, ceasing for a moment before resuming, “No. I’m not done decorating.” He pointedly slammed a mug onto his desk, an obvious sign of resentment for Simon’s sleeping habits.

Simon let out a groan, placing a pillow over his face in a shallow attempt to end his suffering. After the first month, Baz’s personality became too much to bear, what with it being so rigid and somewhat robotic. It seemed as though he never slept, and when he did, it was as if Baz never entered the realm of dreams, just lying in his bed until the sun rose again. Simon, on the other hand, was able to escape into a dead sleep when even remotely horizontal. He was more of a morning person than Baz, usually beating him to the shower to avoid an early greeting (not that Baz was in the mood to say good morning; he was irritable before his morning tea). Every subsequent month of the first semester only solidified how disparate their lifestyles were; Baz had been raised prim and proper, given every lesson in etiquette known to man. Simon knew he had to be mildly presentable in polite company. Despite their differences, however, they’d found some comfort in the way they mutually tolerated each other as roommates. Of course they had their spats--Baz was guilty of getting into physical situations that resulted in Simon “ _ tripping _ ” down a flight of stairs--but they rarely stayed mad at each other long enough to grow embittered. In fact, when room registration for the fall semester rolled back around, Baz was the first to suggest they pair up again, receiving little protest from Simon on the matter.

“Now,” Baz began again, “If you’re done lazing around on a perfectly nice day, I’d appreciate you getting up to help me clean.” He stood beside Simon’s bed, arms crossed as he tried to will the covers from him with nothing more than an icy glare. Unsurprisingly, his efforts were fruitless. “Simon, you absolute tosser, get your ass up,” his tone was irate, only hinting at the annoyance playing in his thoughts. Yanking on the pillow, Baz was unprepared for the force he received in return.

“I got up early to do the laundry!” Simon replied, an inhuman growl seeping through the words, and tugged the pillow back with fervent disobedience. Shocked at his reply, Baz released the pillow, noticing Simon was thrashing his legs under the covers (though Baz couldn’t imagine how he moved so unnaturally). Working up his resolve again, Baz grabbed the covers, pulling roughly to destabilize Simon enough to face him. His eyes were wide, lips pulled into a snarl as he began to spit poisoned words.   
“Leave me alone! Don’t  _ fucking _ touch me!”

Baz stumbled back, nearly tripping over the rug between their beds. Simon’s words were garbled, as though his cheeks were filled with cotton, a previously unaccounted for lisp now prominently displayed. It seemed as though he could barely contain his teeth, lips stretching further as he struggled to force out another incoherent stream of profanity. He glared holes through Baz, an inferno of hatred brewing behind cloudy blue irises. Tossing back onto his side, Simon pulled the comforter over his head, thrashing further before settling with another growl. Equal parts confused and terrified, Baz considered going back to organizing his desk, but finally opted for the quieter task of folding laundry as far away from Simon as possible. For as long as Baz knew Simon, he’d never seen the boy change so drastically, or even that quickly. However heated their debates were, Simon never looked animalistic or  _ sharp _ , not even in fist fights. Yet, with just a few words and a firm hand on his precious sheets, Simon was more akin to a viper than a human.

Placing a shirt into his wardrobe, Baz snuck a glance over his shoulder to Simon’s bed. He wasn’t heaving or shifting around anymore, which was good, but Baz couldn’t shake the unnerving sense that something about Simon’s form wasn’t right; not only did he  _ look _ bigger, his presence was suffocating to be in. It felt as though he was drowning in thick smoke by simply being in the same room together, like all of the available oxygen was being sucked up by a black hole near Simon’s bed. Discomfort and dread mingled in Baz’s stomach as he tossed clothes that he’d been wringing nervously back into the laundry. ‘ _ I should say something _ ,’ he thought, somehow back by Simon’s bed, though he remained a considerable distance away. What exactly he wanted to say was still lost on him, seeing as he was in the right: Simon always slept in on Sundays and it was such a waste of time when there were so many chores to be done. He shouldn’t have to get into a fight just because Simon wanted to laze around in bed.

“Snow…” he reached for Simon’s shoulder, swallowing before giving him a nudge. “Snow, come on, get up.”

“Didn’t I  _ just _ tell you not to  _ fucking touch me _ ?” Simon’s voice was low, booming in Baz’s chest more than it rang in his ears. He didn’t even bother to turn around, as much as Baz hoped he would. “I swear to  _ God _ , if you touch me again, I’ll rip your fucking arms off.” Simon curled in on himself under the covers, grumbling angrily before his breathing steadied again. For a moment, Baz just watched Simon’s shoulders and back rise in a gently slowing rhythm. Just like every other verbal altercation, Baz felt melancholy and regret, because it was the little squabbles that kept driving them further apart. One misunderstanding here, a hallway scuffle there, some unsavory insults thrown from across the quad, Baz wondered if it would end. He didn’t particularly  _ enjoy _ fighting Simon at any given moment, nor did Simon’s resistance to his malice feel all that great. If he weren’t so hopelessly queer, Baz might have kept trying to get Simon up. He imagined pressing a kiss to the exposed portion of Simon’s hair, just behind his ear, and thought up some comforting words for his sweet prince. 

Instead, Baz went back to folding the laundry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all need to tell me if you want the full, extended version of this because me and Psyche have been talking about it.
> 
> If you want to see the stuff that happened between the 1st and 2nd years that I cut out for the time skip, as well as all the extra fluff that is/will be cut out for the sake of keeping these drabbles between 1000 and 2000 words.
> 
> Comment ":3c" if you want the unabridged version of these gays


	8. Celestial Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hoodies, feelings, and some good old melodrama

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all wanted the fluffed out full story so look out for it

Trudging down the hall, Simon let his feet drag across the linoleum. As usual, Baz had been an absolute dick to him all day, relentlessly berating him for the most insignificant shit (mainly how messy his shirt tucking skills were). On top of that, Penny kept prattling on about some boy she’d met at a nearby school, and how they’d be spending every Friday together, Fridays she and  _ Simon _ were supposed to spend together as best friends. He  _ thought _ that his girlfriend of three years--the only person he could confide in--would give him  _ some  _ comfort. The whole day, Simon imagined curling up in Agatha’s bed, burying his head in the nape of her neck and receiving kind words. He was practically drunk on the thought of her perfume clinging to his sweatshirt, a little souvenir he could envelope himself in later. It wasn’t until he saw the concern plastered across her dark brows that his mind began to falter. She had been waiting outside of her room, head hung and hands deep in her hoodie pockets (a hoodie she’d stolen from Simon in high school). Simon approached her with caution, waving meekly to get her attention.

“Uh, hey?” his greeting came out as a strained question. Agatha didn’t seem startled, despite making a tiny squeak in the back of her throat. “You…wanna hang out?” He mustered a tiny smile, flushing slightly as he caught the faintest taste of her perfume.

Agatha sighed, “No, Simon, not today…” she put up a hand to stop the words from flowing out of his open mouth. “Or ever again. Listen, Simon,” she sunk back against the wall, looking down at her hands. “I know we’ve been together for a while, but this isn’t working out, at least, not  _ anymore _ .

“I don’t really want to get too into it, but, between your anger management getting worse, your obsession with Baz...the whole Penny  _ thing _ …it’s just too much for me to deal with. I like you Simon, a whole lot, but I can’t keep taking a backseat to everything else in your life, especially not to someone like Baz… If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re more in love with  _ him _ than you are with  _ me _ .” Agatha looked up, barely meeting Simon’s eye. She let out another sigh, shifting slowly to place a hand on his cheek, her thumb grazing his baby cheeks. Without another word, she placed a bittersweet kiss against his lips, the taste of guilt overpowering her cherry chapstick. “Maybe once you’re all figured out we can try again.” She disappeared into her room, taking all of Simon’s hope with her.

He stood in front her door, dumbfounded and offended. Agatha Wellbelove, the most beautiful girl he'd ever encountered, had thrown away three and half years of companionship over what? Simon's temper (which she never experienced first hand). He raised a hand to slam his first against the door, though, upon seeing the pink name card, he realized how stupid the whole situation was. Agatha was a gorgeous, untainted human girl, an  _ angel _ when compared to him; she radiated light wherever she went, and now that he was able to process her words, her kindness must have extended far enough to pity date him for three years.

Releasing his trapped breath, Simon shamefully walked back to his dorm, tears clinging to his eyelashes. Of  _ course  _ someone like her wouldn’t want to be with him; it was a miracle she stayed with him as long as she did. Simon wiped his cheeks on the back of his sleeve, taking a few shaky breaths before trying the knob. As usual, Baz was seated on his bed, a book in one hand and a mug in the other. He didn’t even look up to address Simon.

“You’re home early,” he said coolly, punctuating his sentence with a sip from his mug. “Don’t you usually spend Sundays with Wellbelove?” Baz glanced up at Simon, who had curled up in bed, legs tucked up to his chin and face buried in his knees.

“I don’t want to deal with you today,” Simon’s words quivered, soaked in pain and shame. Even from across the room, Baz could tell that something wasn’t right about his roommate today. Between his closed off posture and lack of complaining, the atmosphere was just like those first few weeks together: tense, polite, and above all,  _ cold _ .

Baz sipped his tea again, setting the mug on the nightstand along with his book. “Something happen?” he glanced over at Simon, resting his temple against the headboard. Simon nodded once, swiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. 

“We, uh, we’re not seeing each other for a while,” his voice was barely above a hoarse whisper, the beginnings of a sob forming on the edge of his words. Another stream of tears began as he sunk further into himself. Mulling it over in his mind was easy enough to suppress, but once the sentence left his lips, Simon felt the full brunt of his emotions. He dug himself under the covers, compressing into a tight ball while choking back more sobs. A low creak from the other side of the room indicated that Baz had gotten up. ‘ _ Probably to get away from this shit show _ ,’ Simon thought before putting his focus back on somewhat keeping his composure. A few footsteps confirmed his suspicions, but he was confused when he didn’t hear the click from their door. Instead, his own bed creaked as a weight dragged the foot of his bed down.

A hand tugged at his sheets, moving them so Baz could get a good picture of how Simon was curled up. Baz patted his knee, even though it was awkward to reach up that far. The constant warmth that radiated from Simon was completely absent today, despite the glowing of his cheeks, Simon was almost as cold as Baz normally was. They sat in silence, Baz gently patting Simon, moving from single taps to lingering presses. It was as though he was pushing some feeling back into Simon, to start the heater of his being in an attempt to melt the ice forming around his heart. 

Just as soon as he had taken a seat, Baz rose again, but only so he could closer to Simon. “If you ask me,” he began in his usual tone, “Wellbelove wasn’t all that great.” Although his words had their customary bite, there was a layer of sincerity that would be comforting had it come from anyone other than Baz. Baz squeezed Simon’s shoulder firmly, his fingers digging in-between Simon’s collar bone and his shoulder. “She was a bit of a prep, no?” Simon could hear the smile spreading on Baz’s lips, despite being covered up to his ears.

“Takes one to know one, Baz,” Simon propped himself onto his elbows, just high enough to catch Baz’s eye (not that it was hard, Baz had been staring at him). For the first time in a year, Simon didn’t think of Baz as his enemy, nor a conspirator out to ruin his life; the boy before him was a roommate, someone he could put trust he could no longer give to Agatha. Sure, Baz was still as much of a tosser as he was before--but for the briefest moment, Simon’s heart swelled at the thought of trusting Baz. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the final part I put in this drabble series, all other installments of the Celestial au will be put into its own story (which I do when I fill out the first part to a decent length for an introduction chapter)


	9. Hot and Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz is trying to make SImon warm up to him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First person whoops.  
> It probably won't be the norm for this fic, but don't trust me.
> 
> :3c

**Baz**

I can feel his heat even from across the room, but the way it beckons me isn’t as inviting as I hoped it would be. Simon’s hands are literally glowing around the cage bars, his knuckles a stark white against the charcoal grey metal. There was a fire behind his eyes that burned straight across the room (no doubt aimed directly at me). I sat myself in a chair before him, trying to maintain a somewhat neutral expression; the last thing I needed was for him to singe my eyebrows during an interrogation.

“Snow,” I tried to keep my voice low, as non-threatening as I could manage. “You’ll melt the bars doing that,” I leaned back, crossing one leg over the other.

His lips were pulled taught over his teeth, which had long since morphed into a set of fangs. “Then let me out,” he growled, it was a low rumble that shook me from the inside out. His shoulders heaved with every breath, and I could see little puffs of smoke rise through his teeth.

“Now, you know I can’t do that.” I focused my gaze on his beet red cheeks, if only to avoid meeting his gaze. “At least not without asking a few questions.”

“Let me out!” He pressed himself against the bars, his skin burning brighter as his grip tightened.

“Not until you tell me what you know about the Mage,” I said, using every ounce of strength I had left not to raise my voice.

“I’m not telling you anything!” he spit the words out like they were soaked in kerosene.

“Snow, please,” my tone was much drier than I intended, and I knew it wouldn’t be received well. He reached through the bars, his hand groping the air for purchase. “No need to go off.”

“Let me out!” he growled the words more than he spoke them. “I’ll burn all of this to the fucking ground,” Simon caught my eye, forcing me to finally meet the inferno engulfing what should have been dull oceans. A breath caught in my throat as my heart nearly leapt from my chest. Despite him barely keeping a hold on his human form, he still looked stunning; even with the glowing skin, the fire in his eyes, smoke pouring from his mouth, and thrashing tail, my heart still ached to know I was causing him this pain.

“And what good will that do?” I let a bit of the frustration envelope me; it was okay to let out in short bursts, so long as I regained my cool afterward. “The Families would still be after you and the damned Mage, so might as well give up and tell me what I want to hear.” For a moment, I considered using another glamour to make him comply, but seeing as he barely responded to my calming illusions, I decided against it.

“Why would I know anything about the Mage!” he cried, more exasperation than anger. I could see the furnace in his heart dying down in desperation: his skin was no longer white hot, and I could clearly see the light freckles dotting his skin and cheeks. Even his grip on the bars wasn’t out of anger but more to keep himself from slumping over.  
“I know about as much as you do…” He finally gave up on holding himself, letting his body sink to the floor against the bars.

“You’re practically his shadow, aren’t you? How could you not know anything about him?” I leaned forward in my chair, uncrossing my legs. Simon was like a lost puppy, always clinging to someone for support, so it was hard to believe that he wouldn’t know anything about the most popular superhero in the country.

“He’s about as open as a safe...I don’t even know where he lives,” Simon let out a heavy sigh, bringing his knees up to this chest. His tail had vanished again, as well as any imposing presence he had previously. Now that I could gawk at him, I noticed just how messily he was put together, and between the mussy hair and outfit that hardly matched itself, I could say with some air of certainty that he was telling the truth. The Mage didn’t seem like someone who would send their trusted apprentice out in hand-me-downs, yet it seemed just like something that scoundrel would do. I almost blushed; Father would never let me see the light of day if my shirt had the smallest wrinkle.

“I see.” I tugged my sleeves up to my elbows, a casual roll. “So then where do _you_ live?”

“I mostly stay with my friend Penny,” he said cautiously, knowing full well he’d expose someone if he gave too many details (unfortunately for him, I knew a good enough deal about Bunce already). “Before that I was in and out of homes ‘cause the Mage didn’t think it was safe for me when I was little.”

 _‘He still must not think it’s safe…’_ I bit my tongue, knowing a verbal attack on the Mage would only make Snow quieter. “So you’re homeless then?” I quirked an eyebrow, if only to keep the sound of my heart breaking to a minimum (on my face at least, I knew my voice quivered).

“Yeah, I guess I am. ‘Salright though, I know he does it to protect me.” He pushed a hand through his hair, curls I desperately wanted to fix into a neat ‘do instead of the crows’ nest he kept it in.

“This is a step up from that, then?” I almost chuckled.

“Kinda, Penny’s floors are just a little colder than the cage,” even with his back turned, I could tell that he was struggling against a smile. Was he...was playing along?

“I thought you constantly radiated heat, Snow. I’m practically baking over here,” I retorted. A tug pulled at the corner of my mouth, and I didn’t try to bite it back.

Simon turned to face me, his cheeks a pleasant pink. “A cold floor is still a cold floor,” he said flatly. Well, as flat as he could with a goofy grin pushing his cheeks up. My heart leapt again, and it was much harder to hide it.

I crossed my legs, smoothing out the wrinkles in my trousers to keep my eyes from darting across Simon’s face (Lord knows how much restraint that took). “Then maybe I can be a better host than Penny,” I said calmly, despite wanting to let out another chuckle.

“Trapping me in a cage already docks you ten points,” he sighed. A beat passed. “What time is it even?” the question startled me from admiring a patch of freckles at the nape of his neck.

**Simon**

“Seven, give or take ten minutes, why?” he seemed surprised. _‘Seven at night or in the morning?’_ I could hardly recall what happened before I ended up here, aside from being at the subway station and losing Penny, everything else was either cloudy or hurt to remember. Except for this person’s face...I feel like I knew it too well and not at all. Bits and pieces of it made sense to me, the hair, the eyes, that sneer. However, all combined, he wasn’t anyone I could pinpoint with any kind of accuracy. At least not in the low light offered from by the few lamps in the room.

The curtains were either drawn too tight, or there were no windows in the room at all. Judging by how relaxed he was, the dark didn’t bother him. I couldn’t say the same for myself, it felt like a weight was sitting on my shoulders.

I wanted to question him further, but as I opened my mouth, my stomach rumbled loudly. How long had it been since I last ate? I do remember the faintest taste of bread, but I don’t remember eating at the station.

When I turned to face him, his eyebrow was quirked at me. He glanced at my sheepish expression before preoccupying himself with checking the time on his watch.

“I suppose it _is_ past supper,” his tone was dry, but had a tinge of disappointment to it. He sighed before rising from his chair. “I’m afraid this is where our little interrogation will have to end.” He pulled at his sleeves, buttoning them when he’d unrolled them completely. “We’re not done, but this is enough for now.”

“So you’re just going to leave me here?” I hopped back to my feet, gripping the bars reflexively.

“Well, I can’t very well take you with me, now can I?” He gave me a stone cold stare, as if a question stupider than mine didn’t exist. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon enough.” He strode over to the door, pressing his hand to the scanner before looking back over his shoulder. “Try not to miss me too much,” there was a certain air of sarcasm to his voice that made my blood boil again. Before I could voice any sort of protest, he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I make another au and start writing for it? Yes, yes I did.  
> Is this a super hero au? Yes, yes it is.  
> Will I get back to the Celestial au? Eventually, when I feel like.
> 
> What should Baz's super hero name be, drop something down below because me and NM got no fuckin clue


	11. Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff, some kinda not safe for work interactions in Baz's bed, and also some gay shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead ye ye  
> Here's just something to tide me over until I write more of the hero au and possibly the celestial au  
> For now, enjoy this pointless fluff

Simon waited patiently at the front doors of the Pitch manor, checking his watch while pushing his hand through his curls. He knew he’d be late to the party, but he’d hoped that it would be a thirty minutes kind of late, not two hours kind of late. Between picking Micah up from the airport, helping Penny set up her sibling’s own party, _and_ getting himself ready, Simon was surprised he arrived before sunset. ‘ _His parents already hate me, what’s insult to injury_ ,’ Simon checked his watch one last time, wondering if Baz had gotten caught up with something. He was prepared to knock when a familiar voice greeted him.

“Simon!” Mordelia threw the door aside, wrapping her tiny frame around Simon’s legs. With him constantly haunting Baz’s door, it was no surprise she’d grown attached to the boy. “You’re late!” she pouted, but quickly replaced her feigned anger with a wide grin.

“Agatha isn’t the fastest driver,” Simon chuckled, smiling back down at her. They shared a tender glance, beaming with excitement like the children they were. That is, until a figure blocked the warm light pouring from inside. Baz leaned against the door, his usual unbothered frown pulling at his lips.

“Snow,” he sneered at Mordelia, practically tearing her from Simon’s waist with his eyes alone. “Glad you decided to finally show up.” He slipped back inside, using longer legs to his advantage in getting Simon’s attention. Just as expected, Simon jogged through the dense crowd, tossing half-hearted apologies over his shoulder while keeping a close eye on the back of Baz’s hair. The chatter in the foyer was dense, loud enough that any thoughts Simon had were completely drowned out by mindless talk of classic cars or the economy for decent shoes. His head dipped in and out of the crowd, momentarily losing Baz in a sea of jewel tones mingling with crystals and leather. Considering how much racket he’d make calling to Baz, Simon opted for giving him a few breathless calls, barely above the low rumble of the party. Knowing who Baz was a person, he’d most certainly heard everything Simon was saying, even the low curses at him when Baz made a particularly tight turn for the stairs.

Simon pushed past the outskirts of the crowd to finally reach the base of the stairs, out of breath and muscles aching. Of course, Baz looked unbothered, his gaze focused on the the party rather than anywhere near the hot mess that was Simon Snow (though it took a herculean amount of effort to avoid staring at anything but Simon). Even from afar, Simon could tell that Baz’s jaw was set in stone, moving ever so slightly to accommodate for his unhealthy fidgeting that involved  his fangs. The lighting made Baz look more porcelain than alive, but Simon supposed he looked more like a marble statue, especially with how his shoulders were pushed back.

“Baz,” Simon said under his breath as he trudged up to the landing where Baz had settled. Running a hand through his curls in an attempt to wipe some of the sweat beading on his forehead, Simon opened his mouth to wheeze out an apology.

“You’re late, Snow,” Baz spat, finally tearing his eyes from the party below to face Simon completely. Every air of elegance that Simon _thought_ he saw in Baz’s confident posture was actually misplaced anger; there was a strain somewhere in his chest, causing his breaths to come in shallow huffs. His cheeks were aflame (well, as red as an empty vampire could muster), brows pushed together until a deep crease formed above his nose. “More than that, you look like a disaster.” He gave Simon a once over, settling on the crow’s nest that his hair had become. And how much he wanted to muss it even more. The aching pull he felt in his stomach radiated to his fingertips, almost willing his hands up to cup Simon’s cheeks. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest.

“I know--I just--Penny’s house--Agatha--and the car--I just,” Simon stammered out, searching his own hands for the words he lacked so desperately.

“You’re always ‘just’, Snow,” Baz headed for the next flight, gripping the rail in fury. Simon chased after, taking the stairs two at a time until he was just a stair behind Baz. It’s not like he was wrong; Simon was always _just_ a few minutes late, or _just_ in the middle of something. Baz was never _just_ anything, at least he tried not to be to Simon.

They continued up to the third floor, down a familiar hallway, to a familiar door. Baz threw his bedroom door open, not careful of Simon in the slightest. Luckily, Simon knew better than to be less than a foot away from him when he was having a tantrum. Tossing aside his jacket and flopping face-first into his pillows, Baz huffed hot breaths into the silk pillowcases. Not only was he incredibly irritated, he could feel a hungry knot forming in his stomach. He’d avoided eating with the guests as not to raise suspicion or frighten any small children, but he desperately wished he’d grabbed something on his way up to his room. The heat in his cheeks subsided somewhat, no doubt from the lack of blood in his system, but he had the feeling it was from his annoyance becoming bitterness.

Simon seated himself on the edge of Baz’s bed, running his hands through his hair so he could keep himself from staring at Baz. He’d noticed it from the minute he walked through the Pitch’s front door, but he didn’t have much of an opportunity to bask in the glory that was Baz in a suit. He regularly snuck peeks at him at school, but the plain Watford uniform had nothing on the expert tailoring of this particular outfit. Baz always looked good in black, and as far as Simon was concerned, this suit was no different. However, upon further inspection, the fabric had a deep maroon undertone, only visible under the low light coming from a nightstand table. Every inch of fabric draped perfectly over his body, tight, but not constricting. Simon reached out, putting a hand on his calf and easing a warm stream of magic into Baz’s skin. There wasn’t any intent behind it, but he knew how cold Baz would get during his little bouts of irritation, and he also knew that a gentle supply of heat would calm him slightly.

Baz rolled onto his side, facing away from the door. Simon was warm, and so close, there couldn’t be any harm in easing up on him just a _bit_. “I told you five,” Baz grumbled. Crawling up to lay next to him, Simon’s eyes skimmed across the boy’s face. Baz’s expression had softened some, but there was still a deep crease between his eyebrows, a line Simon wanted to wipe away with his thumb. Instead, he cupped Baz’s cheek, letting more warmth pour from his fingers as they traced the underside of his jaw.

“I know…and you’re right to be angry with me,” his voice was soft and reassuring, despite the embarrassment he felt. A hum of magic played under the spot where their skin met, though Baz attributed most of the buzzing to his love for Simon. They gradually drew nearer, Simon wrapping his arms around Baz’s shoulders and Baz pulling him in by the waist. Being the first to speak, Simon attempted to explain himself farther. “But I’m here now, regardless,” his lips brushed against Baz’s, and the faint taste of mint mixed with bergamot.

Baz rolled his eyes and tilted his chin up to finally meet Simon with the ‘hello’-kiss he deserved when Mordelia opened the door. As usual, smoke played dangerously on Simon’s breath, the threat of an inferno looming constantly when the pair was together. Baz’s hands dipped to grip Simon’s hips, his thumbs easing his shirt from where it was tucked sloppily into his trousers. In response, Simon dug his fingers through Baz’s waves, pushing the hair out of his face. What _was_ a chaste kiss had devolved thanks to an expected gasp for air by Simon; he pulled away for just a second, head spinning and face a deep red. A quirked eyebrow and smirk from Baz only cemented Simon’s suspicion: they probably weren’t going to be seen at the party until much later.

“What?” Baz said teasingly, pulling more of Simon’s shirt up to ghost his fingers across his skin.

“What do you mean ‘what’?” Simon pushed himself back against Baz for another kiss, working his tongue through the shit-eating grin his lover wore. In response, Baz lazily shifted his hands to the small of Simon’s back. “I go to the trouble of looking half-decent and you muss it all up within ten minutes!”

Baz chuckled, pressing a sweet kiss to Simon’s cheek, if only to annoy him as his hands ventured further.   
“You always look a hot mess, Snow, my fiddling isn’t changing much,” he spoke against Simon’s lips, his voice hardly above a whisper. The warmth they’d shared before had become much heavier and exponentially less wholesome; the steady drip of magic Simon gave to Baz now poured out of his skin, itching to escape into the air. Simon dug himself into Baz’s neck, nipping at every inch he could reach. In return, Baz pulled at the hem of his shirt, working the fabric up to Simon’s waist before popping the lower buttons.

Simon tugged at the collar of Baz’s shirt, exposing more skin he could coat with nibbles and kisses. A few bemused hums annoyed him into beginning a trail of hickies in the crook of Baz's neck, each one coated in a thick layer of hot saliva. Holding back his more exaggerated noises, Baz let his breathing become deep heaves, aware of how much Simon would tease him about it later if he got too bothered so soon. Unrelenting as usual, Simon let his hands wander from Baz’s hair to his shoulders, and used what leverage he had to move Baz onto his back. Simon opened his eyes for the first time in what felt like eons, analysing the situation completely.

“What?” Baz gasped out, his own eyes flicking between Simon’s eyes and his lips. Whatever blood Baz had in his system had gone completely to his face as he was gorgeously pink from his ears to his neck. “Snow, you gawking crow, what is sit?”

Simon hadn’t realized he’d been staring so intensely, just _admiring_ the work of art that was Basilton Pitch. The mere fact he could be allowed anywhere near him--let alone be _intimate_ with him--hit Simon like a metric tonne of bricks. To hold the tears back, Simon opted for turning his brain completely off (a tactic he’d employed several times in previous interactions with Baz).

“You’re really pretty, ‘sall,” he murmured. “Really, really pretty,” Simon’s words slurred into one another, as he was completely intoxicated by the image of Baz with flushed cheeks. Baz propped himself onto his elbows, forcing another kiss onto Simon’s mouth, if only to capitalize on his boyfriend’s mouth-breathing tendencies. He worked his tongue between Simon’s teeth, searching the roof of his mouth for some undiscovered section. Digging his fingers deeper into the pillows, Simon tried to retract, only for Baz to press as much of himself against Simon as possible.

“Is that all?” his voice was like a hot knife, cutting through the butter that was Simon’s train of thought. Had he really called Baz pretty? Was there more to it than that? Simon didn’t bother answering those questions, he was more interested in the heat that made his blood boil, how much he wanted to warm every inch of Baz.

“Yeah,” Simon breathed. “ ‘Sall.” He dug back into Baz’s neck, the force of his nuzzle knocking Baz back down into the bed. To keep his hands busy, Baz went back under Simon’s clothes, gently tracing freckle constellations with his nails. Simon resumed his nibbling, but the once sporadic bites overtook his softer nibbles, which resulted in more little noises to drive him further. Each press of his lips made Baz gasp and writhe, pulling at every bit of Simon’s skin he could reach. By then, Baz had undone every button on Simon’s shirt and worked feverishly to ease it off of his shoulders.

Simon put a hand to Baz’s chest, sneaking a hand between the buttons. Although he was much further gone than Baz, his position made it difficult to get any kind of leverage to pull at his clothes. Instead of simply sitting up, or asking Baz to ease up a bit, Simon decided that asking Baz to do it himself was the path of least resistance.

“Baz,” Simon growled, raising his head from Baz’s (now _heavily_ kiss-bruised) neck. Baz perked up some, but his hands still played mischievously at Simon’s waistband. Simon decided _that_ distracted him too much and immediately pinned Baz’s wrists on either sides of his head. “Unbutton, yeah?” he said, an animalistic heat tinging his words.

Baz nodded quickly, freeing one hand and tugging at his buttons. As soon as he’d exposed the most minute piece of skin, Simon helped him to tear the other buttons. They worked feverishly to disrobe Baz-who obliged happily.

“A bit impatient are we, Snow?” he chided playfully, a shit-eating grin already tugging on his lips.

“Yeah.” Simon dove right back in, pinning Baz back into the pillow as he forced his tongue between gasping lips. It never occured to Simon that he should be careful around Baz’s teeth, despite it being a subject of intense curiosity. He knew that they grew when Baz got angry, and Baz tended to push him away when things got heated, but did arousal _really_ make his fangs grow? Simon knew better than to indulge in his curiosities (especially Baz related ones), but he needed to know; Simon tightened his grip on Baz, his hips grinding against Baz’s. Baz let out a somewhat pained moan, his hips bucking in response.

“Snow, watch it,” he said through clenched teeth. The absolutely brutal kiss mixed with a sudden thrust confirmed Simon’s suspicions. Baz wrestled a hand free and covered his lips, glaring at Simon. “Crowley, what are you thinking with that, Snow?”

Simon flushed a deep red (if that was even possible), looking away. “Was just curious, ‘sall…”

“What, you _want_ to get bitten? Because that’s the only foreseeable ending to whatever it is you’re doing,” Baz sneered. Simon rolled his eyes, pouting at Baz who quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Like you even _would_ ,” he retorted. Sure, Baz was an asshole, but even he had his limits.

“Oh? Is that a challenge I hear?” Baz smirked, lips parted just enough for his enlarged fang to poke into his lip. Simon swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “What would stop me from draining you right here?” Baz freed his other wrist, his hands drifting to Simon’s hips.

“Baz…” Simon sat up, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. “That’s not something we should joke about…”

“Bold of you to assume I have a sense of humor,” he said flatly. Bringing himself onto his knees, Baz took Simon’s free hand. After he turned it over in his hands, Baz finally placed a single sweet kiss to Simon’s knuckles. “Love, I’d never condemn you to my life,” he spoke quietly. “Not unless I absolutely had to. Even _then_ it would be a last resort.”

“I mean yeah,” Simon began, “But I couldn’t do the same to you!”

“And thank Merlin for _that_ , Simon.” Baz chuckled, pressing another kiss to Simon’s knuckles. “Simon Snow, Crowley forbid I ever have to turn you, but in the event that I _do_ , I promise to take care of you for the rest of our immortal lives.”

They stared at each other. As ridiculous as a promise as it might have been, Baz wished he didn’t have to follow through on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit longer than the usual because it's been a HOT minute  
> Anyway, if you wanna see me continue this in a pseudo part two where Simon is turned then smash that MOTHERFUCKING like button

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhh might continue this as either of them later?? Maybe?????


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